


Final Words

by RedCoatsRedder



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, George Washington is a Dad, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Other, Please Don't Hate Me, i regret everything i'm sorry, paaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnn, so much pain, the feeeeeeelllllls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14279748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCoatsRedder/pseuds/RedCoatsRedder
Summary: Alexander Hamilton receives two letters. One, from the esteemed war general and former president, George Washington. The other....from his wife. Alexander's world is turned upside down.





	1. Final Words

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> I'M A HEARTLESS PERSON
> 
> LAUGHING THROUGH THE PAIN 
> 
> this was inspired by a post on Pintrest.

Alexander Hamilton was sitting at his desk. It was late in the night, and he knew he really should be asleep. Eliza had said so herself, and she was usually always right about such things. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from his work, so he kept writing, long into the night as the candle burned low. His quill scratched away on paper, line after line flowing onto the page. And then a knock on the door echoed through the still, silent house. Briefly carding a hand through his hair, Alexander stood up and plodded into the entry hall, bleary eyed.

He opened the door to reveal a messenger standing outside, bearing with him two letters. “Mr. Hamilton, sir? I have two messages that I have been instructed to relay to you.” He held out the envelopes. “Ah. Thank you, my good man. Have a good night.” The other man tipped his hat in response, and strode off into the night, leaving Alexander alone on the threshold. He curiously examined the letters, noting that one was from President Washington and the other from his wife, Martha. Heading back towards his study, he flopped down on his chair and held the letter from Martha Washington close to the candle so that he might read it. Shaking open the paper, his eyes scanned over the first few lines. _Dear Mr. Hamilton, It is with much sorrow that I write to you now. I fear that I must tell you that George Washington has passed away…._ After that he registered nothing of the letter. Washington, dead? His commander, his President, the first person who’d been willing to give him a chance. He was gone.

Suddenly it seemed like just too much to take. Alexander dropped his head onto his hands, furiously blinking away the tide of emotion threatening to overtake him. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and glanced over at the unopened letter from Washington himself. Hands shaking, he reached out for the letter, slowly, jerkily slitting it open and removing the paper from within. Holding it carefully in both hands, he began to read.

_My Alexander, I hope that you are well, son. It’s been far too long since I saw you last. I do hope that everything is fine up there in New York, and that you’re not overworking yourself or fighting with Mr. Jefferson at all hours of the day and night. I fear that I myself may not be in the best of health at the moment, however, so I am in no position to criticize you for your own behaviors. I am not worried, I am sure that the illness will pass in due time. Martha and I both miss you and your dear wife and children, and I would very much like to have you come down to Virginia soon._

_Son, you had better be getting enough sleep and food. If I find out any information to the contrary, we will have a nice long talk about your limitations as a human being. Much like we did during the war, and all those times I found you working late in your office. I seem to recall that your friends Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette were also most displeased by your lack of rest._

At that, Alexander let out a weak chuckle. It was true, the General had not been the only one to be displeased with him over the long hours that he always pulled.

_I look forward to seeing you soon, son. Take care of yourself now._

_George Washington_

The letter ended there, and it slid out of Alex’s grip and drifted slowly to the desktop. Alexander was suddenly, inexplicably angry at Washington. Angry at him for leaving, for dying, for calling him son, even after all those times he had expressed his desire to be called anything but that. Anything at all. Yet, the former President still attached that endearment to his name, one last time. He furiously snatched up the letter again and crumpled it into a ball. “Don’t… .call ..me.. .son.” He growled, emphasizing each word by scrunching the paper tighter with his hand. “I’m not your son, DON’T CALL ME SON!” He ended the sentence on a shout, before he collapsed back down onto his chair. Sobs wracked his frame as he whispered quietly, “Please, call me son, just one more time.”

It was raining. The skies were grey and melancholy, as if even nature was mourning the great man. Alex stood before the marble grave, clad in black, hat in hand. No one else was around, they seemed to have sensed that some alone time was needed. The funeral had been….lacking something. It still felt wrong to think of Washington as truly gone, but he was. And that hurt in a totally new way that Alexander had never experienced before. So now he stood before the cold, silent stone, back straight and eyes down, as if he was waiting for Washington to take him by the shoulder and reprimand him for whatever it was he’d done now. He would have given anything in the world for that to happen. But there was no sound from the stone, and the only movement came from the rain falling from the sky. And Alex cleared his throat twice before he was able to speak. “Your Excellency, I am.. I think for once in my life I don’t know what to say. You comment on how that’s a first, I think. Oh, why did you have to die? I just don’t know what to do. Why did you have to leave?” He crouched in front of the President’s grave, leaning his head against the cold stone. “I wish you were here, I miss you so much. Please, I would do anything if you could just call me son one more time. Just one more time.” Of course there was no response, and he closed his eyes, feeling tears slip down his cheeks. And he didn’t try to wipe them away, just sat and let them fall as he mourned the man who had, in the end, been so much more than just a General and a President. Alexander sat in the rain and he mourned his father.


	2. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a reader's comment. I cried while I was writing this.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA.
> 
> HAHA. 
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. 
> 
> I'M STILL A HEARTLESS PERSON.

Alexander opened his eyes. 

Which was strange, because when he’d closed them he’d been laying on a bed, with his dearest Eliza and Angelica by his side, a bullet in his ribs from the duel with Burr. He’s still laying on his back. But now it’s all faded away, all to blinding white light. No pain, no blood. There’s absolutely nothing, in fact. All is calm, white light. 

Except….a lone shape is emerging from the brightness. A small dark shadow that grows larger as it approaches, taking on form and color. As it gets closer, Alexander’s breath catches in his throat. 

It’s Washington. 

Not the old man he was at the time of his death, but the stern and commanding war general, dressed in black, looking neat and dignified. And he’s clearly heading in Alexander’s direction. 

Remembering the man’s firm aversion to dueling, and the manner of his demise, Alexander swallows, stands up, and smooths down his own black clothing. Just in time for Washington to reach him. 

“Hamilton!” Washington is smiling, which is something he didn’t do often when he was alive. But now he takes Alexander by the shoulders and holds him an arm’s length away, examining him. A sigh escapes his lips when he sees the faint stain on the fabric where he was shot, but it’s quickly replaced by a fond look. “You look like you’re twenty-one again.” Alexander remembers being twenty-one. He remembers the war, the long nights of endless writing, the camaraderie he found in Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette. 

Washington folds him abruptly into his arms. For a moment, Alexander is stiff in the embrace, but it’s somehow soothing and he allows himself to lean against the older man and return the hug. “I missed you, my boy.” The former President smiles again. “I missed you as well, sir.” 

“How dare you duel with Burr. Have you lost your mind?” Washington’s voice has slipped back into the commander’s tone, as though reprimanding a foolish subordinate. Though he hasn’t let go of Alexander. “What on earth were you thinking, young man? You’ve got some explaining to do.” 

“I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“I know, son. I know. Hush. No more talking. It’s been five years. I missed you.” The man pulls Alexander closer. Unwilling to let go, it seemed. 

“However, I am still absolutely furious with your behavior. You should have lived for many more years, should have had many more disagreements with Mr. Jefferson, should have had the chance to retire with your wife. I know that it wasn’t all your fault,” he added, when Alexander opened his mouth to protest. “I am just sorry to see your life cut short.” 

Washington rubs gentle circles on Alexander’s back, chin resting atop his head. Alexander breaths a soft sigh, ruffling the other man’s cravat. “F-father. Father. Father I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.” 

“My dear boy, I have always been so proud of you. So, so proud. When I met you, you were young, loud, and rash. Granted, you are still loud and rash.” Washington chuckled. “But Alexander, I promised that I’d be around for you. It’s been a pleasure to watch you and be with you through your life, son. I love you very much.” Washington smiled down at his adopted son. 

Alexander had buried his face in the older man’s coat during his speech. Now, he lifted his head enough to look into Washington’s eyes. “I-I love you too, Father.” Tears pricked slightly at the corners of his eyes. 

“My dear boy.” Washington ruffled his hair and slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’m afraid we must get going; Laurens misses you very much. So does your son. My grandson.” The former President’s eyes lit up with happiness. Alexander laughed, long and loud, and let his father lead him off to greet his old friends and family.


End file.
